


the true Makaveli

by theonlytwin



Series: now that you are dead [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, dumbass old men figure out sex again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:04:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytwin/pseuds/theonlytwin
Summary: Road trip time stamps, or, Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison apologise to each other and other people, or, Tupac Shakur released like six albums after he died, Gabe, so the least you can do is check your phone.





	1. travelling north-east

**Author's Note:**

> last two stories were in depth, well thought out character studies. this is dumb and indulgent romance.

Day 3 - I lived my life a product made to crumble

 

 

we gonna pretend like Commander Gabriel Reyes wasn’t the true Makaveli?

reaper coat inspiration and speculation

How We Know Gabriel Reyes Had it All Locked Down From Day One

suge knight shot gabriel reyes: confirmed

REAPR MASK/BLCKWTCH LOGO??

Gabriel Reyes Mural Defaced - Volunteers Pay for Repair

 

The last link Reyes actually clicks on - the rest he knows are going to lead him to pages full of badly edited, ad-heavy theory that either gives him too much credit, or not enough, that reads too much into his relationships, or not enough. It’s usually that or jokes, and not even very good jokes.

 

This link though, leads to a news blog - a photo of five people grouped in front of a wall with black paint splashed on it, the black splash covering something brightly coloured. The people are old and young, black, Latinx, both. 

 

There’s a quote, “Gabriel Reyes was a part of this community and we will continue to honour him regardless of popular opinion.” It’s ascribed to Maximiliano Soares. Reyes scrolls back up, looks closer at the photo.

 

 _Shit,_ Reyes mutters. Morrison glances over. _Maxi’s still alive._

 

_Who?_

 

_Sang at my grandfather’s funeral. And the wake._

 

 _He was good,_ Morrison nods, looking at the screen. Maxi, in a flatcap, standing between two young people. _The mural’s good too._

 

_When did you see it?_

 

 _Couple-three years ago,_ he says, not saying: when I thought you were dead.

 

If Reyes was in his right and proper mind, this would be sad, or creepy, or infuriating - Jack seeking him out after he died instead of before.

 

Instead, Reyes says, _You missed me?_

 

 _You know I did,_ says Jack Morrison, tucking his head down against Reyes’ shoulder. 

 

Jack Morrison, who betrayed him, Jack Morrison who stopped trusting him, Jack Morrison, who he would have maybe killed six months ago. 

 

Jack Morrison, who helped him break into a climate controlled vault to get his guitar back, Jack Morrison, who found him dissociating and dissolving in the shower and said, _Gabriel,_ very gently, Jack Morrison, who found a taquito place still open at 11pm and bought half the goddamn shop back to the fucking motel.

 

Jack Morrison, who says, _I woke up after Zurich with no eardrums, you know. Mostly blind._ Reyes has seen the scar tissue around his scalp, has inferred his new cybernetics. _Angela had to write me a note, real big. Didn’t believe her, but -_ he turns, and Reyes can feel Jack’s breath against his skin. _Figured if you were able to, you’d come tell me I was an idiot._

 

 _Shit,_ says Reyes again, and presses his face to the top of Jack’s head, rolls towards him, blindly, wrapping the arm still holding the phone around his middle. _That’s what I was fucking thinking. While I was still just - spite and smoke. He’d have found me, if he was alive._

 

Jack shudders, whispers, _Sorry, sorry,_ strokes one hand down Reyes’ back, winding the other into his hair, mouth at Reyes’ throat.

 

 _We’ve got to be the dumbest motherfuckers who ever saved the world,_ Reyes tells him, and Jack laughs, a little, sets his teeth against Reyes’ collarbone.

 

 

Day 5 - lost in the land of the lonely

 

 

_I’m just saying - if you don’t want to go see your mom -_

 

_We’re going to Indiana, but we’re taking a tactical route._

 

Reyes stares at him. _Through a park._

 

_Not a lot of surveillance in national parks, unless you’re a forest fire. We go through the tourist traps right, we stay out of the cities but keep ourselves supplied._

 

Reyes nods, buys this for about three minutes, until he reads a sign coming up on the left.

 

_The fuck is ‘the General Sherman?’_

 

 _It’s the world’s largest tree,_ Morrison tells him, _by volume._

 

 _Is this about your fucking - thing about American history -_

 

 _It was named in 1879 by a biologist who actually served under Sherman during the Civil War._

 

_You try and tell me about the Civil goddamn War, I am out. Outta the car, outta the country._

 

Jack shakes his head. _It’s the tree that’s interesting. It’s nearly three thousand years old, one of the oldest trees in the world. Predates America. Predates Lief Erikson. It’s been here since the fire stick farming indigenous tribes. And it’s still standing._

 

Reyes considers this. 

 

He’s barely had a conversation that wasn’t objective oriented in about - four years? It was just him and Northman exchanging looks about Sombra, or Sombra thinking aloud while Reaper nodded along, trying to keep up. 

 

And Jack, as far as he can tell, hasn’t been working with a regular team. Has been floating through old Overwatch bases in a mask, in case someone remembered who he used to be. Before that, he was mostly coasting on the coat and the title. And before that, he was awkward, curious, honest.

 

 _Still standing,_ repeats Reyes. 

 

 _Survived everything,_ Jack says. He has never been a subtle man, Jack Morrison.

 

Reyes breathes out through his nose. _You wanna make a stop at the tree?_

 

_Gotta take a break from driving soon, anyway._

 

_I will fucking leave you in this forest if you start about the Civil War._

 

 _Sorry I brought it up,_ Jack says, smiling.

 

 

Day 7 - all of a sudden I'm hearin' thunder

 

 

Reyes doesn’t like driving through the corn - partly because it’s like a weird purgatorial endless sea of yellow that makes him feel like he’s hallucinating, partly because Morrison keeps making these tiny aborted gestures that mean he wants to correct something about Reyes driving, but doesn’t want to be a dick.

 

After forty five minutes of this shit, after Jack’s taken in a quiet breath about the way Reyes turns a corner, Reyes just pulls onto the shoulder. 

 

_Swap out, if it’s gonna be a thing._

 

 _It’s not a thing,_ says Jack, but Reyes slides out of the car anyway, takes the opportunity to stretch as he walks around.

 

Jack climbs out too, takes the opportunity to put his arms around Reyes’ waist, kiss his jaw. _Sorry,_ he says.

 

 _It’s not a thing,_ Reyes tells him, and kisses him back, in the sun, amongst the corn, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

 

Jack bunches a fist in the back of Reyes’ shirt, slowly, exposing skin to the whispering air. He leans back against the car, pulling Reyes with him, mouth open and sweet. Everything is very hot, and slow.

 

The shush of corn is disturbed by an engine down the road, and they unwind themselves before it gets into view - Jack resettling his hat, Gabriel cleaning his sunglasses. 

 

Jack offers a little wave to the truck as it passes, and Reyes sits in the passenger seat. Jack comes around the car, hovers at the driver’s side.

 

 _These roads are just - you gotta be careful._

 

 _Get in the car, Morrison._

 

He does, clips himself in. _A lot of loose gravel,_ Jack says.

 

_You know I learnt to drive on unsealed Syrian roads in sloppy U.S.M.C. Jeeps._

 

 _You told me that, didn’t you - how you didn’t have a car, coming up._ Jack’s remembering something Reyes said thirty-odd years ago, in bed.

 

 _Public transport and borrowed bikes,_ Reyes nods, and Jack pulls back onto the road. 

 

_The corn can trick your eyes, though._

 

Reyes lowers his sunglasses. _How many corn related car accidents were you in, Morrison?_

 

Jack checks both wing mirrors, shifts gear. _Two,_ he sighs.

 

 _Two? Two means after the first one you were still doing stupid shit._

 

_The second time I was - distracted._

 

_By what? What the fuck is out here to distract you?_

 

Jack doesn’t say anything, but as Reyes watches, he grins, hot and very slow. 

 

Reyes remembers what they’d been talking about, in bed, thirty-odd years ago, when cars came up.

 

Reyes pushes his sunglasses back up his nose. _Pull over,_ he says. 

 

_You wanna swap back?_

 

 _No,_ Reyes tells him. _I want you to pull over. Somewhere private._


	2. middle-america

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That familiar nose and stubborn chin above red, white and blue leather. _Were you - a NASCAR driver?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw! and also you can mouse over for spanish translations

Day 7 - Your style wack as ever like you was rocking patent leather

 

 

The house Jack grew up in is full of photos. 

 

Young Jack, reading on the couch that’s still in the living room. 

 

Jack at eighteen or nineteen in dress blues, just before the SEP - how he looked when they first met, and Reyes barely remembers this skinnier, scarless boy.

 

Jack and his father, who has his hair, his eyes, standing by a truck. 

 

There’s one with a rally car, the driver hefting a trophy. That familiar nose and stubborn chin above red, white and blue leather.

 

_Were you - a NASCAR driver?_

 

 _Broke the women’s record at the Daytona 500,_ says Lyn Morrison. _When I was young and stupid._

 

_Huh._

 

 _When I started thinking about a family, I figured I should get a job that made a difference, instead of just money. Get a job that helped._ She watches him, says, _Though, my job must seem a little thing compared to what you and Jack have been up to._

 

Reyes shrugs. He’s not sure what to say to this sharp-eyed retired sheriff who must know what ‘partner’ means in Jack’s mouth. 

 

He’s not entirely sure what else Morrison told his mother while Reyes was outside, but she had waved him in, said, _’Spose I can extend dinner to a couple of dead men,_ while Jack smiled behind her.

 

Jack’s in the kitchen, making the kind of chili that requires beer poured over peppers.

 

_Don’t know if you can measure how much we helped against how much we harmed, let alone compare it to what anyone else did. Any job with where you’re the authority, where people rely on you - it’s big enough._

 

She keeps watching him. She’s subtler than her son, he thinks. _You helped Jack,_ she says. _Helped him more than harmed him, in case you were wondering._

 

 _I don’t - know if,_ he starts, then stops. He can see why Jack and Ana get on so well, suddenly, if he grew up under a woman who seems to be carrying a weapon even when she’s not. _Sorry. We’ve been through a lot. We weren’t helping each other, for a while there._

 

 _If you hadn’t gotten better at it, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?_ She smiles - and it makes her look like Jack.

 

 _Sure,_ he says. 

 

 _This’ll be ready in a half hour,_ says Jack, coming in from the kitchen. 

 

 _I can catch you up on all the town gossip you missed,_ says Lyn, turning on a goddamn dime from interrogator to mother. Reyes resists the urge to check his own pulse.

 

***

 

Reyes sits on the edge of the bed in Jack’s old room - _Well, you know we turned it into a guest room after you did that first TV interview,_ Lyn had said, _but the bed should fit you both,_ and Jack had glanced at Reyes, said, _Thanks._

 

He’s messaging Sombra, _Por favor, vigile a Bloomington y también dígale a Idaho que busque el récord de mujeres de Daytona 500_.

 

Jack shuts the door behind him, leans against it for a moment.

 

 _You told me lots of things about your childhood, over the years. Watching sci-fi, playing golf, losing your virginity in cars in cornfields,_ says Reyes.

 

 _Just the one car,_ says Jack, coming towards the bed. _You lose your virginity once._

 

 _Debatable, and not the point._ Reyes puts the phone down. _At no point in the pastoral reminiscences did you mention that your mother is terrifying._

 

 _She likes you._ He sits next to Reyes, angled towards him.

 

Reyes lifts his hands to the ceiling. _How can you tell? I could never make out if she was going to thank me or fucking shoot me._

 

_She’s never been - demonstrative. Dad was, he used to cry when Spock died - but she doesn’t lie, either. And she put us both in this room._

 

_What did you tell her, anyway? We were fucking until the UN told us to break up, spent a couple decades not talking about it - this escalated so badly he died, I faked my own death? That’s why I didn’t call for years! But we’re good now, thanks._

 

 _It’s almost like you were in the room,_ says Jack, flatly. _I told her the bones of it. I told her I was sorry. I told her we’re together. She told me you should come in for dinner._ He’s tense, which is not what Reyes wanted to do. _If she didn’t like you, you’d know._

 

 _I bet I would,_ sighs Reyes, picking up Jack’s hand, holding it to his mouth. _Don’t know what I was expecting, really. Person like you was always going to have come from someone remarkable. Someone smart. Someone slightly insane._ Jack huffs, as Reyes presses a kiss to each of his knuckles. _Glad you invited me,_ he mutters, against Jack’s fingers.

 

Jack’s mouth twists, but he turns his hand up, curves his fingers around Reyes’ neck. 

 

 _Glad you came,_ he says. 

 

Reyes nods, leans forward to rest their foreheads together. _Can’t believe you modeled your merc uniform on your mom’s rally racing get up,_ he says, quietly.

 

 _Get out of my house,_ says Jack, equally quietly, free hand finding his knee.

 

 _It’s your mother’s house, isn’t it? And she likes me,_ Reyes tells him. 

 

Jack takes a slow breath in and out, sagging against him. _’Spose so._

 

 

Day 10 - If daytime is for suckers 

 

 

It’s 0230, and they’re throwing down in an alley behind a superstore, between a rundown trailer up on bricks and maybe eighty flattened cardboard boxes.

 

They picked this spot because it’s out of the way, in a surveillance dead zone, and they had just finished an argument about culpability both steamed up about the state of the world.

 

It’s good to fight Jack. It’s familiar, and comforting, to be able to grapple with him and have it mean nothing. It’s not about winning, or dominance. Nothing is at stake, only the force of them, the knowledge of each other. They spar until one of them taps out, or gets turned on, and it’s good.

 

In this alley, Jack slams him against the boxes, pushes the air out of him. Reyes lands three punches quickly along his ribs. Jack goes to block his arm and Reyes twists, sweeps his legs, puts Jack on the ground, swings a knee over him, pins his hands.

 

Jack’s eyes glint in the flood light reflected from the low clouds. His feet scrabble, for a second. Reyes knows he’s going to get rolled in a moment, and is wondering if he wants to let it happen. 

 

Then a light comes on in the trailer, and they’re both on their feet - because neither had expected it to be fucking occupied, there’s no water source out here, they hadn’t done good reconnaissance - the little sliding window on the side opens, and a woman peers out.

 

_Boys, I’m not fussed if you’re fucking or fighting, but would you mind taking it elsewhere? I start work in about four hours._

 

 _Sorry,_ says Reyes, squinting, _ma’am, we’ll move it on presently._

 

 _Mm-hm,_ she says, and starts to shut the window.

 

 _Ma’am - can I ask -_ Jack’s standing in the shadows, raising his hand like he’s in class. _Are you hooked up to water?_

 

_Nosy, for a hobo. I use bottled, and the bathrooms in the store. Why?_

 

 _We’re sorry to disturb you,_ says Reyes, walking backwards.

 

He and Jack walk silently to the car - Reyes starts it, pulls out as quietly as possible. 

 

They get across the parking lot before Jack says, _Does she work here?_

 

 _Hope so,_ says Reyes. 

 

Jack shakes his head. _We were on her damn lawn._

 

_You wanna do something about it?_

 

 _About superstores? About how many people still live in trailers in middle America? About bottled goddamn water? I’m a soldier. A fugitive. I’m not a - political reformer. I can’t become one._

 

_Never trusted politicians. In between you, me, Sombra and Overwatch, we can figure something out._

 

Jack sighs. _Isn’t this is how we fucked up, last time? Thinking we knew better._

 

_That’s low on the list of ways we fucked up, Morrison. And besides - we learn from our mistakes. But only if we keep trying._

 

He glances over, for a second, and back to the road. Jack’s staring at his hands. _We keep trying,_ he echoes.

 

 _On our terms._

 

 _Together,_ Jack says, and it might be a question.

 

 _Together,_ Reyes tells him.

 

 

Day 13 - hand full of hair, look in my eyes

 

 

_What’d you mean, anyway, about virginity being debatable?_

 

Jack only says these things immediately before or after sex.

 

He’s told Reyes, either while he’s hard or mid-afterglow, that he hadn’t been with anyone else in the decades since he met Reyes, asked whether he’d like to get married, asked if Reyes had ever thought about having sex in one of their offices, said, wide eyed _Would you like to choke me? Not - seriously, just -_

 

(Same, doesn’t matter, occasionally, yes.)

 

_When’d I say this?_

 

 _Bloomington,_ says Jack, touching the palm of his hand to Gabriel’s chest.

 

He remembers. _Right. Virginity’s bullshit, okay? Because you can’t pick and choose what sex is. For centuries, it was just - a broken hymen. Getting a dick inside a vagina. Which is stupid. By that measure, you’re a virgin._

 

 _Guess so,_ says Jack, grinning.

 

_See, it’s bullshit. It’s imaginary. It’s the first time, all the times it’s new. You lost your virginity first time you and someone helped each other get off, on purpose. And you lost it again when you did it differently. First time you went down on someone - different to the first time someone goes down on you. First time you finger someone, or eat them out, or fuck them, or eat them out after fucking them, or that thing you like with my thighs - I’d never done that before I met you, never even thought about it. I’d never been fucked before you._

 

 _Why not?_ He’s pulled closer to Gabriel, dick swelling a little against his hip.

 

_Don’t know. Never on offer. People I was with, maybe, expected me to top. Wasn’t ever with anyone long enough to talk about it. But you come along, and make it look so good, I figured I had to try._

 

 _Yeah?_ Jack says, hand around Gabriel’s dick now, slow and steady. 

 

 _Yeah,_ says Gabriel, eyes closing, hips canting up, _I wanted you to fuck me so I could see what all the fuss was about,_ he spreads his legs, _wanted to get pinned, a little. Wanted you to open me up like you like me to, like you fucking beg me to._

 

 _Like this?_ Jack slides his fingers down, teasing.

 

 _Yeah. Yeah, like that,_ he says, and Jack presses in, mouth open against Gabriel’s ribs, warm and excited. _That’s good._

 

But Jack pulls away and Gabriel makes a high noise. 

 

 _Sorry, hang on, slick,_ says Jack, and Gabriel hears the lid click open. _Here,_ Jack pulls the sheet back, settles in between his legs. 

 

He runs one hot hand along Gabriel’s thigh, gentling him, curves the other up into his ass. 

 

_Good?_

 

_Yeah, you’re good. You’re good. Fuck, you’re good._


	3. return

Day 15 - they turn out the lights, I'll be down in the dark

 

 

Halloween they spent holed up in a motel room, Jack mumbling about costumes Reyes had worn a lifetime ago, hiding his face against Reyes’ skin, _Thought you were trying to kill me, those goddamn pants, every goddamn year a new reason to wear skintight pants._

 

 _You held your own,_ Reyes told him. 

 

But now it is November first. 

 

 _Never told you about my family’s religion,_ says Gabriel, in the new motel room. He starts unpacking the lockbox Jack never looked inside of. _Catholicism made a habit out of stepping into existing systems of belief and making out like they’re the same. Day of the Dead - it’s All Saint’s, but it’s something older, something brought up from the Aztec empire._ He unpacks the guitar string, his mother’s rings. _A day for those who passed, and for the one who watches over them._ He holds the owl skull up, turns it so it’s facing Jack. _Her name used to be Mictecacihuatl. The keeper of bones. We call her Santa Muerte - Calavera Catrina. Holy Death, the Pretty Skull, the Skinny Woman. She’s - a promise of peace after life. A reminder that in death, everyone is equal. She takes care of everyone, eventually._

 

Jack’s frowning, very slightly, but he nods. _I remember you praying, and I didn’t - want to intrude._

 

 _You could have._ Gabi looks at the photo of his abuelito, puts it on the bed next to the skull. There’s a photo of himself as a baby, his mother smiling up at the camera. There’s an ancient marigold in the box that will probably turn into dust if he touches it. _Or maybe I could have told you. Sorry._

 

 _You’re telling me now._ Jack puts a hand on his ankle, angles his head to look at the photos. _Your eyes,_ he says, pointing at Catrina’s eyes. 

 

He feels the heat of the tears before he realises he’s crying. _I’m gonna - light these candles. And, pass me the fruit - I make an offering. And I - I play, or sing, something my mother liked, something my abuelito taught me. You can, if you want, you can tell stories about - people who have died. Our friends, family._

 

Jack stands, so as not to disturb what’s on the bed. He walks around and folds over Gabriel, kisses his forehead and nose and eyelids. _Thank you,_ he says.

 

Gabriel lets himself be held up by Jack, lets the tears fall, thinks, _amado peregrin, mi corazón cerca al tuyo_.

 

He plays it, and he sings, his shitty flat voice filling the space in the room.

 

 

Day 17 - It's the place to be, you've got to be there to know it, everybody wanna see

 

 

He’s wearing a loud shirt, cap pulled low, it’s dusk in LA, he’s good at stealth. This is fine.

 

Jack still sticks out a little, but the beard’s long enough, the sunglasses big enough, the shoulders sloping down and hands loose enough that he looks like a tipsy tourist.

 

It’s dumb, but Reyes wants to see, and Jack had said, _I visited my damn mother, you can go see a wall._

 

_In a major city?_

 

 _In a town with a million extraction points,_ Jack had shrugged.

 

So he’s in Orange County again - first time in decades. Nothing about the lay of the land is familiar, really - the streets are wider, the buildings taller and glassier - but the people sound the same. He keeps his eyes down and his ears open, it sounds like home.

 

When they come up on the block of the mural, Reyes slows his step, still doesn’t look up. Jack puts a hand, lightly, on his back, says, _They’re still repainting._

 

Gabriel looks. 

 

It’s across the road, facing traffic coming down the hill. His face, three stories tall. His abuelito’s beard. His mother’s eyes, looking out, looking happy. His scars. A set of wings around his head, in warm, bright shades, a burst of light, like a halo. A banner underneath, the words still being filled in.

 

He looks like a saint. Like a hero. 

 

They must have used one of the photos from the Edinburgh declaration of peace, and edited out the stress of sleeplessness. 

 

 _Told you it was good,_ says Jack. 

 

There’s a scaffolding, a kid with some spray cans finishing off a wing. There’s three more people at the base, working on the banner. Wielding a can is Maxi Soares, singer from his abuelito’s band.

 

Reyes pulls his hat down again. 

 

 _We can be out of the country in eight minutes,_ says Jack, _if you want to talk._

 

_Just because you had to explain yourself to your mother doesn’t mean I wanna explain shit to anyone._

 

Jack shrugs. 

 

He gets a message - _Apagué las cámaras de ese bloque para ti_.

 

_Fuck you, Morrison. I do not like that you two talk._

 

Jack shrugs again. _We can go, if it’s gonna be a thing._

 

 _Shut up,_ he says, _eight minutes, right? Give me five,_ and starts across the road.

 

He stands on the edge of the pavement, still looking at the ground. A voice from the top of the scaffolding yells, _Gabriel Reyes is still alive!_

 

 _Yeah, hanging out with Biggie and Pac, gonna drop beats on holo vid,_ says one of the kids on the ground.

 

 _Why you gotta be a cynic, Maritza?_ says the one next to her. _You let Wash have his dreams._

 

They’ve all got their backs to him.

 

_They’re not dreams, it’s in the data! It’s in the Sombra files! Reaper is Reyes, Reyes is Reaper, and Reaper has been active for years! The precise years since Gabriel Reyes’ alleged death!_

 

 _Calm down or you’ll fall down,_ calls Maxi. 

 

_I’ll be calm when they accept the damn facts. Gabriel Reyes is alive. I bet he’s been working for Overwatch all along._

 

_Then where is he now, Wash? When Overwatch is coming out of the woodwork?_

 

This seems to be his cue. 

 

He taps Maxi on the shoulder. He’s old, stooped a little, smelling of spray paint.

 

He turns, and he lights up. 

 

He puts a hand on Reyes’ face, for a moment, then his shoulder, then gathers him into a hug. 

 

Last time they hugged was at the funeral. 

 

 _Um, Wash? Wash. Wash!_ Reyes opens his eyes, looking over Maxi’s shoulder, and Maritza is staring at him. 

 

_Lupe, you tell that unbeliever that she can talk to me when she’s done some reading._

 

_Qué cojones,_ says Lupe, slowly, stretching out the last word.

 

_What?_

 

Maxi lets go, and Reyes looks up. Wash, a kid with the same kind of hair he shaved off in basic, hangs his head over the side of the scaffold. 

 

 _Oh fuck,_ says Wash, and starts scrambling down. _Oh fuck, fuck, fuck - is he a hologram?_

 

 _No,_ says Reyes.

 

 _What kind of question is that?_ Maxi asks, slapping Reyes on the chest. _A hologram?_

 

 _Can I take a photo?_ asks Lupe, already pointing a phone.

 

_You can, but it’s just going to get deleted._

 

 _By the Sombra?_ says Wash, on the ground. 

 

_Just - Sombra. It’s her name._

 

 _Holy shit, Sombra is a person?_ He clutches his head. _Fuck! Eat it, Maritza!_

 

_Cállate, Wash!_

 

 _I am sorry for the welcome,_ says Maxi, _they’re just excited._

 

 _I’m sorry,_ says Reyes, _for not visiting sooner. I heard about the mural._

 

 _Well, you are an inspiration. Clearly._ He gestures to the kids, who have grouped together to hyperventilate, as far as he can tell. _Come to dinner with us!_

 

 _Can’t. Still technically dead, kind of a fugitive._ Maritza punches Wash in the arm, he punches back, Lupe slaps both of them. _I’m leaving in two minutes. I could visit again, when things calm down._

 

 _I’ll give you my number,_ says Maxi, and Reyes takes out his phone.

 

 _Gabriel Reyes has a fucking phone!_ says Wash.

 

 _Boy!_ says Lupe, _I recognise that this is a full miracle and all, but please chill the fuck out for a fraction of a second?_

 

Miracles mean someone has a plan for him. This might be part of the plan, he realises.

 

 _I like the mural,_ says Reyes. _I like the wings._

 

 _I’m dying,_ says Wash, ecstatic. _I’m dying, I’m dead, this is how I wanted to go out, bury me under a stone that says ‘Gabriel Reyes likes my art’!_

 

Maxi hands the phone back. _Keep in touch. You could come play guitar with us, some time._

 

_The band’s still together?_

 

 _Mr Reyes?_ It’s Maritza, standing in front of the others. _Sir? Thank you. For - like - everything._

 

He grins. _Thank you. For everything._

 

Wash covers his mouth, makes a noise like an overloaded engine. Maritza grins back.

 

_What’s the banner going to say?_

 

 _The opening of the Edinburgh declaration,_ says Lupe, _we learnt it in school._

 

Reyes had written that speech with Jack and Ana on the plane, and delivered it feeling like he wanted to lie down for a century.

 

 _Through ambition, collaboration and care,_ says Maxi, _today we share a good day._

 

 _Sounds better than I remember it._ He checks the time. _I’ll let you know, Maxi._

 

 _And I’ll let them know,_ says Maxi. Wash clutches his head again. Maritza slaps him on the shoulder. 

 

 _I don’t even care if it gets deleted,_ Lupe takes a photo, shrugs.

 

Reyes looks up at the mural one last time, and turns, waves, heads out into Orange County.

 

 

Day 0 - the realest shit I ever wrote, against all odds

 

 

At breakfast, Morrison makes a gesture between himself and Reyes. _Going on a trip. Be back in a couple weeks._

 

 _What kinda trip?_ asks McCree. _Business or pleasure?_

 

 _Not Overwatch business,_ says Reyes.

 

 _Honeymoon?_ suggests Amari, and Fareeha, a well trained soldier, makes a face. Jack stares determinedly at the ceiling.

 

 _So long as you are not going off to die again,_ says Wilhelm.

 

 _Nah,_ says Reyes. _Everyone’s done it now. Lost the edge._

 

Northman flips him off without looking up.

 

 _I thought you wanted refuge,_ says Winston, _and now you’re leaving again?_

 

 _I can keep you invisible, if you ask very nicely, and stay away from cities,_ says Sombra.

 

 _Doable,_ nods Jack.

 

 _Please,_ adds Reyes, because Jack lost his manners at some point between Amari’s fake death and Reyes’ real one.

 

 _Take this,_ she says, and produces a thin phone from some pocket. _It’s only a prototype, but it’s in your colour._

 

 _Wait, wait, wait. Wait._ Oxton points at Morrison, then Reyes, and back again. _Like, is this - were you - I don’t mean to pry -_

 

 _And yet,_ says Reyes, and she doesn’t even look the slightest bit ashamed. These people used to be afraid of him.

 

 _Does it matter?_ mutters Jack, already turning away.

 

 _I mean - there is the teeny tiny matter of the betting book -_ she says, gleefully.

 

Reyes laughs - very loud, and not at all sarcastically, for the first time in a while. 

 

Jesse grins, Fareeha makes another face. Morrison claps a hand around his wrist and starts towards the door.

 

 _Ta luego!_ waves Sombra. 

 

 _What about the book?_ calls McCree.

 

 _Sorry,_ Reyes shrugs, and thinks to himself, _Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte, me inclino antes de ti y te pido que seas guardiana y protectora de mi y lo mío en la vida y después de ella._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe you noticed that the weather in this story seems pretty warm, for october/november in north america? climate change. i legitimately put too much thought into this, but trust me: climate change.
> 
> let me know if you have any plot/reference questions! i still haven't played this video game! i never will! 
> 
> thank you again to thundara and valcries. y'all are cute. thanks to mrgamblinman for art! go commission them!

**Author's Note:**

> titles from Tupac's first posthumous album: The Don Killuminati, which is about his artistic resurrection, recorded a month before he was shot, and is one of the main sources of the conspiracy theories about him faking his own death.


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